


Fault Line

by xSparklingRavenx



Category: The Last Remnant
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4304346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSparklingRavenx/pseuds/xSparklingRavenx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s no easy way to sum up grief. It’s just trying to keep your head above the waves when your legs don’t want to kick anymore. It’s when you want to shut your eyes and let the grief fill your lungs like the ocean water and drown you. It’s Fornstrand when the one girl you wanted to protect you let die because there was no other alternative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fault Line

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, it took me a while but I finally managed to write something for The Last Remnant! I'm a little bit nervous about this one!
> 
> I did write this with David/Rush in mind but seeing as it's post game it didn't really get shippy. This is more a character study for David than anything else, so here's hoping it's okay!
> 
> EDIT (04/09/15): I just spotted a massive spelling error and I'm mortified. I'm so sorry!

The first night isn’t the worst.

The loss is fresh and not yet real, like a fatal wound freshly sliced open with the blood still spilling, and David is still riding the high of battle and the instability of his own emotional state. The Conqueror is gone, they won the battle, the Remnants have disappeared, Rush is—

As soon as he’s back in the castle, he dismisses his generals and walks the long walk to his room. Their expressions tell him that they are reluctant to leave him but Torgal is the most persistent, following him like a shadow until David asks firmly to be left alone. There is a moment of silence between them; he can feel Torgal’s eyes on his back, calm and appraising. He doesn’t turn to meet them. Eventually, Torgal takes the hint, and with a steady, “Yes, my lord,” he leaves, his footsteps ghosting down the hall.

Moonlight spills through the windows as David walks, his hands balled in fists as he waits for the true meaning of the day’s events to set in. His legs are nearly buckling beneath him, his muscles aching and weary. The public will need him at his best tomorrow, when he will have to address what has occurred and what will happen next. The world he will fall asleep in is one that is very different to the one he awoke in. The one person he’d like to share his fears with is the one person he can’t.

Their ragtag group has already split, the friends Rush had made along their journey all returning to the places they call home to deal in their own ways and to try and keep the peace. He doesn’t know where Irina went; only vaguely recalling her running into her parents arms as she sobbed and tried to tell them what had happened. His mind had been elsewhere, straying as the tear tracks stained his face.

By the time he finds his room, his eyes have dried fully and his expression has steeled. He doesn’t change his clothes, instead falling into bed as he is. His stomach twists and turns as he shuts his eyes, knotting with the beginnings of grief that he won’t let show on his face. He could vomit. He almost does before he falls asleep.

He dreams of Rush, of watching him vanish into a thousand particles of light as David struggles to grab him with his clumsy fingers. Rush is smiling as he fades. David tries to scream for him but his throat tightens and his chest burns with the air he can’t expel. When he wakes, the sun is shining. It’s so warm, so brilliant. It turns him cold.

The Remnants are gone. He’ll never see Rush again.

He gets up and changes his clothes, going through the motions, before heading downstairs to greet his generals. They are all waiting for him in their usual places, and when he steps in, they look at him as if he’s glass.

David opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it again. Emmy averts her eyes, while Pagus keeps his trained on him steadily. Torgal approaches him, but it’s Bloctor who breaks the ice.

“Uh, are you sure you’re doing okay there, young master? If you want the day off or anything, I’m sure no one will say a thing!”

And it’s too bright. Oh God it’s too bright. Not even Bloctor can mask the difference in his tone. Everyone is feeling this loss, he has to realise, not just him.

When David does speak, his voice is thick and heavy. “My people will be wanting to know what has occurred and what our next steps are,” he says slowly, taking a moment to pause and recollect himself. “It would be selfish of me to abandon them in their time of need.”

None of them says anything in objection. Torgal lays one of his hands on David’s shoulder, a silent acknowledgment, and then Emmy says softly, “You are an inspiration to us all, my lord. We will do our best to assist you.”

“Thank you,” he replies, his voice still not as strong as he’d like. She has lived through loss before, David thinks, and used it to strengthen her will. It is Emmy who is the inspiration, not him.

He lives for Athlum, he lives for his people. Right now, nothing else matters but them.

(He can only lie to himself for so long.)

 

_~x~_

When the second night draws near, he can barely keep his eyes open.

He’s fresh from the bath and in his own room once again, dead on his feet and close to collapsing on his bed. There’s so much going on, chaos surrounding not just Athlum but the entire world. There’s no time to grieve, and there won’t be for a long while.

But in the chaos he forgets for just a brief moment. When his head falls back against the soft plush of his bed, he finds himself wondering if Rush will come knocking for him for a night time chat, as he often does.

He sits up immediately as he realises his mistake, his heart crushing inwards. It’s the same mistakes he’s been making all day, referring to Rush in the present tense or thinking about what he might be doing while David was busy working. He feels like a fool.

Here, in the darkness, is the only time he has for grief. The foreseeable future will continue to be busy and difficult, congress calling for him and his people needing his reassurance. His head hits the pillow again and he feels the overwhelming nature of sadness grip his heart like The Conqueror himself has hold of it. Right now his soul is light without the weight of the Gae Bolg, but it grows heavier and heavier the longer he dwells on Rush.

And a scream builds in his throat while his eyes grow hot and it gets harder to breathe, but letting it out will make it real and making it real means it can swallow him up. Not now. Not when he has so many responsibilities hanging over his head.

When he finally falls asleep, his dreams are plagued with those particles of light. He tries to call Rush back to him, thinking that maybe if he shouts loud enough, wishes hard enough, those particles will flow back together and bring the last Remnant back into existence.

Instead they float away, dancing in the light of David’s eyes for a brief moment before dissipating away forever. He tries to reach for them, tries to catch them on the tips of his fingers to recapture Rush Sykes one last time. He needs this. He needs him to come back.

Rush wasn’t supposed to leave.

He wakes early, his arm outstretched above him. His room is lit with the coming of dawn, but his body is still tired and his eyes are still burning. He needs to move; lying in bed until it is formally time to rise will do nothing but upset him. Staying busy is the only way forward right now, so he pushes himself up, pulls on his clothes, and then heads for his study.

It’s silent. Once, Rush would come and lean against his desk as David worked, nattering on about whatever he pleased, knowing he was being distracting and not caring in the slightest. David’s work output would falter on those days, but for some reason no one seemed to mind. The first time he failed to complete something on time, he thought Torgal was going to tear his head off. Instead, he’d lightly reprimanded him with a sort of amusement in his eyes that David would never dream of seeing on any of Sovani, let alone Torgal. With the benefit of hindsight he understood. He’d never had a reason to be distracted before Rush, and working all the time wasn’t healthy.

Today, he works solidly, breaking only for the necessities. The stack on his desk had been bigger than ever before, and yet, he finishes in record time.

 

_~x~_

“Dave,” David mumbles under his breath as he lies down on the third night. It feels like lifetimes since he’s heard the nickname. In reality, it has been little over seventy two hours.

He tries to remember how he felt when his father died and regrets it when a wave of sorrow surges over his chest. Everyone said it would get better in time. There’s no easy way to sum up grief. It’s just trying to keep your head above the waves when your legs don’t want to kick anymore. It’s when you want to shut your eyes and let the grief fill your lungs like the ocean water and drown you. It’s Fornstrand when the one girl you wanted to protect you let die because there was no other alternative. He remembers waiting for her even after he knew she was gone, watching the waves tumble past, hugging his knees and trying to swallow the heartache.

Only now does he realise that she and Rush may as well be one and the same. Why is it that he’s always drawn to the same sort of people, the ones who treat him like any other person, who fill him with confidence, who smile easily at him and joke around and then leave him behind? No, he thinks. That’s selfish. Saying that they left implies that they wanted to go, that his father wanted to leave him as a young ruler, that the girl let herself be killed by monsters, that Emma didn’t fight to the end for her life and her daughter, that Rush had a choice.

He thinks about Rush’s eyes as they met his for the last time, and even though David had seen him through blurry vision, he knew they held the look of someone who didn’t want to _go._

David’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t break. What he should be thinking of is how he’s going to live up to Rush’s legacy, because Rush wouldn’t want him to mope over him. He managed to surpass his father by gaining Athlum’s independence, but Rush saved an entire world. How on earth was he ever going to live up to that?

He seems to spend his life living in the shadow of ghosts. If he asked Torgal, he would probably give him a lecture of sorts that a Mitra should not live as such when their lives are not long. David knows he’s not as wise as Torgal, but his life is his however he may choose to live it.

Distantly he thinks perhaps he should go and visit the friends Rush had so eagerly gathered. Maybe they could do something for the man who had so readily extended his hand to help them. There’s nothing to bury, but he deserves to be remembered.

When he finally drifts off, he’s thinking of Marina, John, and Irina. He wonders what they’d like. Maybe when he finally gets some time, he’ll ask.

He dreams of lights.

 

_~x~_

The nights come and go. David goes to bed and wakes up, works himself to the bone and repeats the cycle. There’s always something, though. His mind straying during a meeting, his pen stilling as a memory steals him away, a particle of light catching his eye. Weeks pass in a blur. He’s always so busy.

He’s a fault line. There’s only so long before something slips and he snaps in two, but he’s dormant and he’s quiet, and the build up of stress is silent and unseen.

There’s no time to grieve. 

Here he dreams of holding Irina while Rush is vanishing and oh God he’s powerless. He can replay the scenario as many times as he wants, in his daydreams or his nightmares, but it’ll never change. What could he have done differently? Nothing, it doesn’t matter, heads Rush dies and tails David loses him. The stress is building, building, building—

He’s a fault line, and he wakes himself up screaming Rush’s name. Before he’s even fully awake Torgal is in his room, at his side, two hands on David’s shoulders. “David,” he says, gentle and calm, the name sounding naked coming from his mouth without the typical ‘Lord’ fixed to the front. Hearing it brings him back from the dream, back to reality, away from the lights.

David sits up, his arms trembling as if they’re rocks quivering on top of quaking earth. He can’t speak, feeling icy and shaken. His eyes threaten to spill over, and when he finally manages to get a word out – _“Torgal,” –_ it cracks and it’s over. It’s real. This is all real.

There’s no such thing as elegant crying. Torgal wraps all four of his arms around his body, pulling him close like he’s a child, and lets him sob into his chest. Weeks of pent up feelings of loss spill forth; he can’t hold it in any longer.

“I will not tell you it will get better,” Torgal says, “but I will tell you that not grieving now will only make it more difficult.”

Torgal is right. After his father’s death, he was told often that the pain will dull, that it gets easier, that time is the greatest healer. Perhaps they were right, but in the midst of the pain of losing his parent that was the last thing he wanted to hear. Of course in the future it would be better, but it was the dealing with it in the _now_ that was the problem.

Where does grief end and the return to normality begin? Is there simply a point where the knife that stabs at every once fond memory starts to blunt? Is there a moment where the sorrow has reached its peak and it can only dull from there? Is there a part where David can think of his nickname and not want to throw things across the hall in the unfairness of it all?

Or is it, he thinks, the moment when your legs are no longer tired, when the water level regresses and the water flows from your lungs? If grief is Fornstrand when the one girl you wanted to protect you let die, then is moving on Rush Sykes and his gift to the world that he could only give with his death?

It doesn’t feel like moving on. Not yet, anyway.

He gives himself a headache from the crying, but it’s difficult to stop. When he finally pushes away from Torgal, he looks up and tries to force a smile. “I suppose I look a state, don’t I?” he says, his voice uneven.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Torgal replies, crossing both sets of arms. “Do you feel better, having let that out?”

David thinks on it. “Not particularly,” he offers. “Rush would probably have something to say about all of this, wouldn’t he?”

“He had something to say about everything, my lord.” Torgal says, and they both manage to laugh. “I presume that would be why everyone would be missing him so much, wouldn’t it?”

David hums his response, and then pauses. “Torgal,” he says.

“Yes?"

“Do you think…do you think I’ll ever be able to live up to that? To everything that Rush achieved, I mean. I want to do him that much. You understand what I mean, correct?”

The other man is quiet for a moment, seemingly thinking. “Torgal?” David asks again.

“You wish to know if you are doing him proud.” Torgal begins, his words slow and deliberate. It isn’t a question. David nods. “Then you have nothing to worry about. I may not have known Rush Sykes as well as you did, but I do know this – these past few weeks, all you have devoted your time to is work, trying to do the best for your people. Even though you are suffering, you are still trying to help people. For that, I would say that you are living up to any expectations he would have ever had of you – not that the man I knew would hold you to any of that, David.”

Silence permeates the space between them as David digests the words. Dawn is peering through the windows. It still hurts. Of course it still hurts. He would be a fool to expect it to vanish just like that.

But perhaps he does feel lighter. “Thanks, Torgal.”

“You’re welcome. I will leave you be to catch up on the rest of your rest now. Please sleep well, my lord.”

He watches Torgal leave, and then lies his head back against his pillow.

When he falls asleep, he doesn’t dream at all.


End file.
